


Catch the sun before it's gone 4/?

by Abi_Sapien



Series: Catch the sun before it's gone [4]
Category: MMFR, Mad Max Fury road, Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Foul Language, Heavy Petting, Kissing, M/M, War Boys Showing Affection, emotionally constipated war boys, first time kissing, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abi_Sapien/pseuds/Abi_Sapien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 4: where Nux is being stubborn and using words would be useful (although words can change shape). Lucky that you can use your lips on things other than talking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch the sun before it's gone 4/?

There are moments when Nux finds himself stopping and thinkin about it.  
  
But it's rare; there has been a lot to do, the constant sandstorms have been messing up haul ride schedules, the pups have been keeping them busy (Nux loves to hang out with the pups, fake-wrestle with them and let them pin him to the ground, lift the smallest of them to his shoulders and pretend he is their war rig, tell them stories and hear them laugh), there has been unfortunate and mediocre deaths in the Citadel – the half-lives of many of his brothers had run short, and there's no glory reserved for those who withered away in the sick bay. Just to keep the Citadel running in the chokehold of the recurrent storms had been enough to keep them busy day in, day out.  
  
The sand storms were driving everyone crazy though. There was very little chance to go out on a proper haul or training session (or just drive around like mad, that was Nux's favourite pasttime). Nux thought he had gotten used to the sand but suddely it was everywhere: the thin, red dust, chewing into engines and ruining everything, chocking up fuel transmissions, destroying parts of machinery, clinging onto everyhting, like his eyeballs, making his eyes burn and sting all the time.  
  
He finds himself thinking about it when he goes down to the pools. The pools are crowded, as per usual. Washing the sand off felt too good to not to do in every possible occasion that was offered to them. Pups were splashing around, and a couple of older War Boys were looking after them in the waist-deep water, already turned reddish-white because of all the clay and sand that had been covering their skins. The water smells rich, green and black. It partially comes from the green places above their heads and Nux suspects that is the source of the smell.  
  
The smell reminds him of Slit even if he wouldn't want to think about it right now. That sharp, musky scent. It wets his tongue in a way he can't explain.  


Water is pleasantly cool and the droplets falling from the ceiling soft on his skin.  
He doesn't want to think about it now.  
  
He rubs his long arms, annoyed and determined to get all the grit and clay off, revealing pale, pink skin.  
  
He isn't thinkin about it. He isn't thinking about Slit. He isn't thinking about those handful of moments, before falling asleep, when the memory of Slit's body, or his hands, hit him like a steering wheel of a crashing car, right into his solar plexus. He's not thinking about the times when sitting down onto the oh-so-familiar driver's seat of his own car and the touch of the cool leather seat has reminded him of Slit's mouth opening against the skin of his back.  
  
He's not thinking about those sparse, stolen solitary moments when he had his hand on himself and on his lips the name of his brother, his lancer, his mate, and he'd had to bite his tongue.  
  
The invisible line on the dust between their toes.  
  
He doesn't know the words he should use to tell Slit he wants to step across that line again. He doesn't know if there are any words like that. He can't even ask miss Giddy, it just feels – weird, embarrassing somehow. He knows - knows he wants his hands on Slit's body and he wants Slit's hands on his. He wants to explore Slit's body in full detail and in complete concetration, like he would a perfect engine, found outside the Citadel, familiar, yet completely new and full of wonders to reveal. Ah, _fuck_.  
  
Nux has to stop rubbing water on to his skin, because he did think about it when he most definitely should not have. He keeps his head low, the nasty burning on his ears now trickling down on to his cheeks. He wishes he was alone, which is rare for him. But he can't stand the intolerable burning that is dribbling it's way down to his groin, engulfed in the cool, soflty lapping water.

  
He splashes his face (cool water ease the burn on his cheeks but stings his eyes, yet it feels better than the grains of sand in there) grabs his pants bundling them under his arm and wades through the pool his head still ducked down, signaling he is in a hurry and does not want any contact from his pale brothers, and clambers up from the stony pool as fast as he can, jumping almost simultaneously into his pants and dashing away to get his war paint re-done.  
  
The buzzing noise of Organic's tattooing machine welcomes him in to the cavern: there is a young War Boy standing in the middle of the stony hall, under the blindingly bright beam of light coming down from the skylight up above, biting his cheeks in pain but not flinching, and the grunting Organic etching deep, bleeding figures into his arm. His mates are grinning and chanting around them. It is a big moment, getting your first sacred scars.  
  
Nux sits down and two slighly bigger pups are already jogging towards him, lugging a pail of clay between them. Nux finds himself greeting them with a welcoming smile. The pups stop before him, notice the V8 symbol scarring his chest and immediately bow their small, shaved heads and cross their stiff fingers above their heads.  
The reaction of the pups embarrass him further, even if the freely offered respect is also quite delightful. He's no Joe, but the pups seem to suddenly be speechless in awe in front of him. He pats both of them on top of the head and tells them at ease, but these two pups don't know him and he hasn't met them often, so they start their clay-painting duty in solemn silence and almost afraid to touch him.  
  
Nux often paints himself as much as he can, but taking a bath in the middle of a day usually leads to getting the clay painted on ritually by the pups. They start with the face and arms, then back and then front, then adding the finishing touches by carefully drawing out his scarring with black and adding the skull-paint, working in perfect unison like cogs in a fine-tuned machine.  
  
” Nuts!”  
Nux's eyes fly open and he sees Slit ambling towards them, grinning widely. The pups notice him too and lift their now clay-caked hands in silent greeting.  
  
” I was looking for you. Should have known you were soaking your pleasure-greedy bones in the pools,” Slit announces and stops in front of him, his hands on his hips, ignoring the pups standing with their heads still bowed.  
  
Nux is suddenly tongue-tied, his mind scrambling for words, but it is too soon after the all-engulfing red-hot wave of sheer and embarrassing want that just washed over Nux's spinal cord. So he just stares, his tongue dried in his mouth, and Slit cocks his head slightly.  
  
” Go, pups. Go. You're putting me out of my job.”  
  
Slit shoos the pups with an impatient hand gesture. They run. Slit grabs a handful of clay and unceremoniously starts to slather it on to Nux's shoulders. This time Nux finds the use of his tongue.  
  
” Hey, mate, I can do that myself,” he says, does not know why, feels his ears starting to heat up again.  
” 'S my job,” Slit answers, not budging.  
  
Stubbornly Nux dips his hand into the delightfully cool and sleek mass of clay inside the pot the pups left behind and starts spreading a thin layer wherever he can reach. The corner of Slit's mouth twitches. He rubs his hand on the side of Nux's long neck, down onto the swell of his shoulder and up again. His movements are relaxed and firm, he knows how to do this and Nux knows it too, and it carries no special meaning whatsoever. This is a form of contact both of their bodies know through and through.  
  
Nux stares fixedly over Slit's shoulder, stares at the fresh War Boy getting his tattoos, tears streaming down his face now, but he's not crying. His mates still cheering him on.  
  
Slit is working his back now: both hands, the layer of moist clay sliding between their skins. Nux uses his fingers to get the white onto his earlobes (to hide the heat still burning the tips; maybe).  
  
” I just came as a bearer of good news. The storms are gathering their strength and there should be a gap long enough for a skillful driver and his equally skillful lancer to practice a tiny weeny bit, before the storms lay down their mighty vexation upon us again.”  
Nux turns his head to look at him and Slit seems to be pleased to finally having caught his attention.  
  
” I just need to somehow find a skillful lancer to ride with me, then,” Nux says, but can't help his lips twitching. Slit continues the work like he didn't even notice, but he's smiling his crooked smile, the staples on his cheeks glinting in the light.  
  
” Pups! Dust!” he then howls and the pups must have been lurking nearby, because they are already there with a vat of fine, white powder, quick and quiet like lizards.  
” Thanks,” Nux smiles. This time one of the pups has the guts to return his smile before scampering off.  
  
Nux paints his eyes and nose with the thick, black goo, while Slit pats the white, softer-than-soft dust onto his freshly coated skin. Nux has to screw his eyes shut when Slit decides to blow a handful of dust right on his face. It tickles like bugger. Slit grabs the back of his neck and squeezes. Nux is fighting a sneeze and crumpling his face desperately, not paying attention and then, suddenly, Slit is very close and his breath is on Nux's ear, his lips nearly touching his earlobe.  
  
” Sweet Immortan, you are _stubborn._ ”  
  
There is laughter in his voice. Nux forgets his uncomfortableness completely. The hand is lifted off his neck and Slit retreats and he's walking away, without looking over his shoulder, when Nux finally pries his stinging eyes open.  
  
The group of War Boys erupt in ear-piercing cheers and the newly scarred and still bleeding boy steps down the stone pedestal, wiping his eyes but triumphant, and the Organic Mechanic cheers along.  
  
It turns out Slit has made all the required arrangements to get them down and going as soon as possible. The winds had been unpredictable a long time, but apparently there was going to be a stretch of clear and there was no reason not to use it. Many others were doing preparations to get their vehicles ready and on the lifts. Nux and Slit's car, the very apple of Nux's eye, was ready, tanks full of guzzolene and just waiting for the steering wheel to be fitted in it's place, on the eastern lift when Nux catches up with Slit. He dares a look ( _dares_. _How_ had it come to this?) and Slit is determinedly gazing into the sunlit distance, shadowing his eyes with his leather-clad palm.  
  
” Oi, puppy, got your goggles? ” Silt asks, fitting his own pair better across his painted forehead. Nux nods, his goggles hanging around his neck. Slit grins, the scars across his cheeks stretching the smile into something quite unnerving. Nux starts towards the car, grabs Slit's goggles by the nose-piece with his forefinger, stretches the elastic wrapped around Slit's skull as he walks past and lets them snap back against his forehead. The sound of rubber and metal hitting skin is satisfying, and so is the colourful curse Slit spits out as a result.

  
” Hey, ho, let's go,” Nux grins as he jumps on the driver's seat, the sun-heated leather kissing the skin on his back like a welcome.  
  
” Hey, ho, fuck you,” Slit retorts as he climbs up on the lancer's perch, and Nux laughs, exhilarated.  


His heart is already revving and picking up speed, drumming in anticipation like the Doof Wagon in full chase. They start lowering the lift and Nux feels the pedals with his toes: the narrow accelerator and the wide, flat brake pedal with N U X scrawled across it. His car. His beautiful machine. For a moment there is nothing else to occupy his mind except the thrill of the drive ahead of him. For a moment he forgets to wonder _why_ he seems to be so stubborn that Immortan's name must be called.

When they reach the ground and get the green light to go, he forgets completely. The V8 roars into life and he can hear Slit laugh his hoarse laugh, like a taunt or a challenge, in the back of the car when he floors it and sends huge rooster tails of freshly accumulated red sand into the air.  
  
The vast desert and the dark wide track of the Haul Route open ahead of them like an endless playground.  
  
There are others already down: they join the game of the most dangerous tag, lancers throwing unarmed spears and drivers skimming each other's vehicles, they're speeding across the sand in an aimless, joyful chase and leaving red clouds of dust and long, slithering tire-tracks in their wake.

 

Nux is happy. The dust makes him cough (that persistent cough, he doesn't like it) but at least the goggles keep the sand out of his eyes. He is by far one of the best drivers, and he knows it, but doesn't make a show of it – that's apparently his lancer's duty, and he is roaring from on top of his lungs ” Mediocre, brothers! Utterly, completely and undeniably mediocre! Stay woke, deadweights!”. 

  
Nux giggles and slides into a tight circle, letting the tail of the car slide wide, before straightening the car again and speeding off towards the mountains in the distance. Slit is laughing and chanting _fang it!_ He sounds happy, too. The others don't seem too bothered to chase them down, a few of their mates follow for a short while – dark specks in the rear window. Slit pounds his palm on the roof.  
  
” The sun is scorching, brother! How about a cooling shadow?” He yells over the rush of the wind.  
  
” When ever has the scorching sun bothered my shiny lancer? Have you gone soft?” Nux yells in response, once again trying to get a rise out of his mate.  
  
” I shine far brighter than my most mediocre driver ever will. Chrome me and witness me - but I do see an inviting shadow up ahead by those rocks!”  
  
” We could just turn back to the Citadel if you're in need of a little lie-down”, Nux shrughs.  
  
” For fuck's sake, Nuts!” Slit shouts and bangs the roof again. He sounds almost desperate, but it's hard to tell over the roar of the air rushing past them. ” Just how bloody _stubborn_ you gotta be?”  
  
Nux swallows even though his mouth suddenly feels dry.  
  
” My lancer wants a cooling shadow?”  
Nux glances over his shoulder and sees Slit looking through the rear window. He nods his head.  
  
” Yes, a cooling shadow is what I want. ” He sighs and then shakes his head, and laughs as he straightens his back to look over the roof of the car.  
  
” Then that is what my lancer gets,” Nux confirms and floors it again, coaxing every ounce of power their ride has out of it's screaming engine.  
  
The ride towards where the maze of huge, scattered rocks begin takes a short while. Briefly Nux ponders if the others will wonder where they went and why they left, but that isn't very probable, just as long as they will be back before the night falls. His heart is pounding an erratic tattoo again.

It seems to bounce against his ribs like it wants to break free from it's bony prison. He's been semi-hard since they left the Citadel, but now the heat, like the searing sunlight shining through the windshield, burning his knuckles squeezing the wheel, feels like it's pooling on his crotch, sweaty and intolerably hot, making his huge crago pants feel too small by half. He squeezes the wheel even harder, until it hurts his hands, but doesn't loosen his grip, because he feels like he needs to hold onto something solid right that moment.  
  
The blue sky burnt white above them doesn't feel real and neither does the sand clouding around their car, and neither do the rocks approaching quite rapidly, and he's not even sure if his lancer is really standing on his perch. If all this is a delirious dream and he's sleeping inside the caverns.  
  
He needs to bring the car into a very rapid halt when the tall, lean rocks suddenly jump right in front of them. There are shadows, dark blue shadows, stretching everywhere, and obediently Nux slides the car in one of them, the shocking half-darkness after the blinding brightness of the desert plain making him blink his eyes behind his goggles.  
  
The shadow falls on them like a cold embrace. Slit disappears from his perch. Nux scrambles the goggles off and then for the handle to open the door and all but falls out of the car when he finally finds it. It feels like he doesn't have proper control over his long limbs. Slit is on the other side of the car, with a bottle of Aqua Cola on his lips, and he's eyeing Nux over the dusty roof of their car. Nux looks away (he has to look down so that he won't suddenly trip over his own unco-operative feet) as he walks around the car. As soon as he reaches Slit, he wordlessly offers the bottle to Nux, wiping his wet mouth with the back of his gloved hand.  
  
Nux accepts the offering happily with a thanks.

He takes a long swig. The water tastes incredibly sweet running down his dusty pipes. Then there is a hand laid carefully against the side of his neck, just – there, with the thumb tracing the angle of his jawbone.

  
” You're so. Fucking. Stubborn,” Slit sighs, but he's definitely grinning.  
  
He slides his hand down, palm against Nux's collarbones. That same hand was on him just a short while before. Nux marvels at the unexplicable difference between then and now, how - - how could a simple touch feel so _different_ , was it because this hand was not working efficently, but lingering on his collarbones, spreading warmth against his skin. Nux exhales. His heart drops, his insides feel like they're suddenly melting into a warm goo inside his belly.  
  
Slit stepped over the invisible line, and he feels – happy and inexplicably relieved. He drops the bottle, Slit tries to catch it but fumbles and the precious water spills around their feet. Nux grabs Slit by his scarf and pulls him closer. Slit lets out a low sound, like something between humming and growling, smiling. Nux can feel it rumble in his chest, flush against his own. He likes that sound. He's been dreaming about that sound.  
  
They half-wrestle – Nux doesn't suddenly know where to put his hands, because he wants them everywhere and it's not enough, it's not nearly enough. Slit is already pawing at his belts, much less efficient than the last time. His hands seem to work too slow for his liking and he's hissing from between his teeth, and Nux laughs, a short, breathless bark, their feet tangle and they almost fall in a heap of fumbling limbs and kicking, black-clad feet. The car stops their ungraceful fall, Slit falling against it back-first and Nux on top of him, almost crushing the air out of Slit's lungs. It's Slit's turn to cough and groan.

Nux leans his elbow on the roof of the car, Slit's head cradled in the crook of his arm. Slit looks up at him with his mismatched, slanted eyes, his mouth a severe line masked by the grin carved across his cheeks. It's difficult to meet his stare. 

  
Nux doesn't understand, why he feels like looking away, why he feels like curling into a small ball and hiding. Hot flush is creeping up his neck and he keeps having to swallow down, down. Slit shakes his head almost gently. Puts his leather-clad hand over the back of his skull. Pulls Nux's face closer to his, until their foreheads touch.  
  
” Oi. Don't go soft on me now, puppy.”  
  
It actually makes Nux laugh again, and Slit seems pleased, a crooked smile ghosting on his lips.

” I'm definitely not - going soft,” Nux sees appropriate to tell, his ears burning slightly and Slit laughs, too. It makes something (that something Nux doesn't have a word yet for, but it's there and it's that damned thing that has been keeping him awake at nights) inside his chest flutter. He likes - _wants_ Slit like this. Laughing, easy, softer somehow. It's silly, really, but he does.  
  
He didn't know it before but he also likes when Slit calls him puppy like that. He used to think it was degrading, but again, words, they change shape and become whole different things sometimes, and this word is suddenly feather-soft, like the flutter under his thrumming heart.  
  
Slit keeps his eyes fixed on Nux – it's a challenge, but Nux is still to decide how to retaliate, and he just lets Slit start the slow slide down from under his arms, sliding his back down the side of the car, slide his hands down the sides of his throat, across his clavicles, his bony chest (storm-lights flicker white in his peripheral vision when Slit's fingers brush, dust-soft, over his nipples and it's completely new), untill Slit is perched on the balls of his feet, his hands finally stopping on Nux's hips, palms cupping the protruding hip-bones, fingers curling around to the sides, his face –  
  
Nux has just enough time to gasp a mouthful of air and slam his hand on top of Slit's shaved head when he just unceremoniously buries his face against his crotch – and he can feel – his nose – his _mouth_ – his hot breath through the cloth – brushing against his rock-hard cock -  
  
His vision goes black (or white, he can't tell, it just _goes_ ). His feet buckle. He can't help it. He falls like a stack of old, sun-dried bones, on his knees, fumbling for purchase on his car or on Slit's broad shoulders. Slit's hand is steadying him, gripping his arm. He is on his knees. At least they are on the same level again. Nux opens his eyes wide (or maybe they were open the whole time, but at least now the colours are bleeding back and he sees the searingly blue sky and the dark towers of the pillars of red rock).

  
Oh no, _no no no_ , Slit stutters, rapid and out of breath, not angry, but pushing him away, his hand splayed against Nux's chest, his lips moving. His lips moving. Nux has to stare. He half leans, half crawls closer, crawls on his knees in the dust, Slit still tries to push him away and probably up, coaxing him to stand back up, but Nux is stronger. Overpowering. Slit loses his balance and falls on his arse. Opens his mouth, probably to curse.  
  
Nux grabs his head with both hands and smashes his mouth on Slit's. Slit lets out a muffled half-yelp.  
  
Nux's lips had always been sensitive. The scarring, it had hurt like hell.

He just wanted to put his curious lips on his mate's crooked-scarred mouth. Wanted to feel how his mouth, his lips, felt.  
  
Slit's mouth is wet and hot. Nux can taste his breath. He tastes of guzzoline fumes and dust and of dark, and sweet, like the fresh, dripping water in the pools. The air is pulled out of Nux's lungs, like someone was crushing his chest under an enormous weight.  
Slit tastes like the final glorious breath, like the feast in Walhalla must taste.  
  
Nux moans, soft and ecstatic, into the open mouth against his. Slit responses with a low, clipped groan, like someone punched him in the gut. Then his hand is cupping the back of Nux's head and pulling him harder into the kiss, and his other hand is pulling him closer by the belt-loops in his pants, he's pulling Nux's long legs around himself, spreading his own thighs until Nux is all but sitting in his lap, Nux's legs wrapped around his hips. It feels good. Really good. Comfortable, almost. Like they just _fit._ Not as good as Slit's mouth on his feels, though.  
  
His lips, moving, hungry and firm, are smooth and soft, unlike Nux's own. It doesn't seem to bother Slit much though. He's making these small, impatient noises deep in his throat. Nux snakes his hand under the scarf around his mate's neck and grabs the long, white throat, carefully, just to – feel. This time the sound he makes is longer, desperate, almost pleading. It vibrates inside Nux's mouth.  
  
Nux doesn't even think – he doesn't. He just sucks at Slit's lower lip and pulls it in between his teeth and bites, gently, as gently as he can, his ears humming and roaring and his eyes half-blinded and his skin burning all over – and he tastes the tang of blood. He meant to be gentler but no such luck.  
  
Slit groans again, grabs him harder. Attacks him back with his teeth, biting his lips. Licking the aching marks he's leaving as an apology. His tongue scraping wetly across the puckers of his scarring. Nux moans, softly, doesn't even know he's making a sound.  
Opens his mouth again, letting Slit dip his tongue in, their warm tongues touching, first strange and unsure and cautious, then coiling together, slick and hot with desire. The bright blue electric shock runs right down Nux's spine, right down to his groin.  
  
He latches his lips into the scarred, hardened corner of Slit's mouth, then his tongue, then licks up the curving scar until he tastes the metal of the staples across Slit's cheekbone. Slit is breathing heavily, his head lolling against the side of their car, his heart pounding like the drums, Nux can feel it under his palm agaist his ribs. _Slit likes this_. It's wonderful. It's shiny and chrome and the single most exciting thing – surely it must be blasphemous, it _must_ be – but Nux doesn't care, and stubbornly he kisses his lancer again, all hunger and enthusiasm, sloppy and wet and lovely.  
  
Slit simply lets him, it feels like he's smiling against Nux's lips but it's hard to tell - because of the scars, but his hands are always there, grabbing him firm and almost painful (good-painful, so good) wherever they can reach.  
  
Now leading their pelvises together, encouraging contact and movement, and Nux obeys, blindly, holding Slit's face between both of his hands and mouthing at his lips and grinding down, but there isn't enough contact. Slit lets his jaw drop, opens his mouth wide, laving his red tongue across Nux's lower lip, panting. Nux is panting also. He's trying to breathe through his nose, his mouth latched over Slit's, small puffs of air against the scarred-sleek cheek of his lancer, and it feels like his lungs are exploding. He has to come up for air. He really doesn't want to, but the roar of his blood is threatening to drown everything, even the dizzying, blinding, burning feel of Slit's mouth against his.  
  
He lifts his head and gasps a huge gulp of air, and he can already taste it.   
Red sand and electricity. The sand storm is picking up where it left.   
Slit mouths at the line of his jaw. Nux grabs his scarf.  
  
” What?”  
  
Slit opens his eyes and looks up, breathless, his eyes look strange, all dark and glistening feverishly. Most of the white on his face has rubbed off (Nux has a fleeting memory of the dull taste of the earth – he probably ate half of his war paint), and his scars look gruesome and his mouth pink and delicious. He is smiling, just slightly, like he doesn't even realize. His eyes flicker down from Nux's own and Nux thinks, _he's looking at my lips_. Nux would want nothing more than a few precious heartbeats just to stare, and let the lovely sight etch into his head, but there's not a moment to spare.  
  
Nux collects his limbs and jumps up, grabbing Slit by the wrist and yanking him up with him.  
  
” The storm is coming and we need to go!”  
Nux turns Slit facing towards the back of the car and half shoves Slit into movement. He seems dazed, like he'd gotten whacked over the head. Nux wonders if he's going to be able to hang on during the ride. He dives into the car and fits his feet on the pedals, flicks the start sequence and the V8 roars into life.  
  
” You good?”  
Nux can't resist shouting at his lancer over the thundering motor.  
” Just worry about getting our sorry asses back home while still attached to our sorry corpses,” Slit snaps, goggles already on, fixing his brace on his arm and lowering his head, ready for the takeoff.

” Fang it.”  
  
Nux does. They forget the bottle. Nux remembers halfway and curses, but it's too late. The sky is turning yellow like vomit and ominous darkness swallows the fiery sun. Windows of the car start to turn opalescent from the fine dust gathering on every surface.  
  
In the Citadel they see them coming and the boys are already descending with the pulley ropes when they slide into view, speeding like the kama-crazies they are, dragging the storm on their heels. Slit is drumming at the roof, triumphant. To him it seems to have been just a fun little play-chase. Nux shakes his head and laughs. His heart is racing and it feels real good.  
  
Slit jumps on the roof and crawls on all fours towards the sunroof. Nux pulls it open and a bucketful of fine sand pours inside the cockpit. He looks up just as Slit drops his upper body in, upside down like those leather-winged little critters deep in the caverns. The scarf is still covering the lower half of his face and he pulls it down (up?) around his neck, revealing a wide grin.  
  
” 'S been a good day, huh, Nuts?” he smirks, his upside-down face covered in red dust, grabs Nux's face between his hands and plants his sand-gritty mouth on his. He tastes of the storm approaching. Nux has just enough time to voice his delight with a muffled little hum, and then their brothers have landed with the pulleys and Slit pulls himself away and disappears the same way he appeared. Nux feels the car bob slightly as Slit leaves his perch to help steer the descending ropes and pulleys.  
  
The brothers wave furiously for him to haul ass, and Nux releases the brakes and steers the car where the hooks and pulleys can be properly attached and the car safely hoisted up towards the garage bay. Then he follows the others inside the tower's hollow, furious winds and the sand already beating at their bare backs and wiping away the tire tracks.

 


End file.
